The Pit and The Pendulum
by ame-ga-korobu
Summary: Music soothes the soul. Can it heal the body, too? Layla believes all is lost after a tragic accident that left her severely broken, but meeting Edward changes her mind and in helping him learn to love himself, she too begins to see that she herself need not be whole to be worthy of love or happiness.
1. PP

_Prologue_

* * *

Nearly every day that summer, she came up to the house. She never came in though, at first she simply sat outside in the garden, admiring the hedge sculptures he tended to regularly. At first, he'd been afraid, the last time he'd had any contact with the people down there it had all ended horribly. He'd been alone ever since.

But she never made a move to enter the house and slowly he began to relax, watching her from the attic window. She would spend hours just sitting on the grass, soaking up the sun, and writing in a spiral notebook.

Then one day, she did something extraordinary. He was sitting on his stiff bed, covered in old straw, and staring at the blue sky from the gaping hole in the attic when he heard it. A lilting note, carried on the breeze, made it's way to his sensitive ears and he stood, curious as to it's origin. More notes followed, and then a slow but somber melody.

Looking cautiously out the window, his breath was stolen from him. The girl had come back and she had brought a violin with her. He watched, transfixed, as she tuned it a bit more. Her slender and pale fingers danced over the strings and satisfied with the sound, she began to play.

As she slid the bow gracefully over the body of the violin, her own body began to move – almost as if of it's own accord. Her back arched and her feet danced lightly over the grass. She twirled and dipped, around the head of the sea monster hedge and underneath one of it's coils, up onto the stone ledge that cradled the exquisitely and meticulously shaped green hand.

Her song was lively and cheerful, it made him smile. He found to his amusement that he'd been snipping away in time with her little melody. He'd never really considered himself as a percussion instrument, yet the addition of the quiet snips seemed to only add to the depth of the music filling his body.

And then she was done. Lightly, she hopped down from the ledge and moved to put her violin away. After fitting it snugly into it's case and snapping it shut, she stood. The wind lifted her long, wavy auburn hair away from her face, revealing dark brown eyes that began scanning the exterior of the mansion.

He sucked in a quick and fearful breath as her eyes locked onto his. For a moment, they merely stood there, eying each other. Then, with a grin, she took a bow and left. Things continued along that vein for the rest of the summer. She would come, play her violin and dance with wild abandon in his garden. He would watch and enjoy the little reprieve from the normal overbearing silence that seemed to consume his days.

And then one day she stopped coming. The days became shorter and the nights colder. He went from sculpting hedges to sculpting ice blocks. He spent days crafting figures in various poses, all of them cradling a violin.

Winter faded away into warm spring and he hoped she would return. She did, but something was different. Something was wrong.


	2. PP1

1.

* * *

_At midnight, in the month of June,_  
_I stand beneath the mystic moon._  
_An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,_  
_Exhales from out her golden rim,_  
_And, softly dripping, drop by drop,_  
_Upon the quiet mountain top,_  
_Steals drowsily and musically_  
_Into the universal valley._

_~ The Sleeper, Poe_

* * *

Layla O'brien opened the car door and pried herself out of her uncle's car. She stood awkwardly in the driveway, staring at the one story green house that she had spent all of last summer living in. Now she was back and not in the best of circumstances. With a grimace, she turned to face her uncle. Mike had climbed out of the car and was looking at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Welcome home," he said haltingly. "The guest bedroom's still ready for you, but let me know if you need any other adjustments."

"I'll be fine," she said quietly. Reaching back into the car, she grabbed her bag and slammed the passenger door. Mike went on ahead of her and she took a careful step forward. Then another. And another, and another. When she looked up, she'd reached the front door.

Mike held it open for her and she stepped gratefully into the air-conditioned comfort of her uncle's living room.

"I'll get you some lemonade," Mike said, heading over to the kitchen. Layla followed him and set her bag down on one of the bar stools at the counters before seating herself. She watched her uncle open the fridge and pull out a carton of lemonade. A glass was already sitting on the counter.

"I'll have to go back to work on Monday," he was saying. "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone in the house all week though – maybe I can have Mrs. Mabel come check on you..."

"I'll be okay," she insisted, giving her uncle a lopsided grin. "I'm not ten years old or something. I don't need a babysitter."

"But if something happens," he began. She cut him off.

"Nothing will happen. I can get around just fine."

Mike sighed and leaned on the counter, staring at his stubborn niece. "So what will you do all day by yourself?"

Layla grinned. "Well, I can watch daytime soap operas, trim the hedges, water the lawn, do the dishes...what needs doing I suppose...and if that fails there's always the internet to keep me occupied."

"Okay," he agreed after a pregnant pause. "But if you need anything at all, just let me know okay?"

She nodded.

* * *

Edward finished snipping at the last stray tangle of leaves sticking out of the shrubbery hand and smiled. Everything was finished now. The sun was beginning to rise high up into the sky and heat the atmosphere so he decided it would be best if he returned to the attic.

Sitting down on his bed, he rested his sharply equipped hands on his knees and sighed. Still no sign of her. Perhaps she wasn't going to come back at all. Perhaps she had only been visiting a relative last summer.

He'd been very lonely since she had stopped coming. Even though he never spoke to her and she only acknowledged him with a bow from the garden, he still missed seeing her. He missed her music and her dancing. It was the first time he'd ever really been able to enjoy music before.

A few times, Edward had imagined himself going down to the garden while she played and watching her. But he had been afraid. She was so lovely and he was so...abnormal. The blades of his hands clicked together anxiously. What if she had run? What if she had never come back? He didn't want her to go, so he stayed out of sight for the most part.

After every performance though, after packing up her violin, she would turn and look up at him. She always smiled and gave a dramatic bow. He found it charming and would often smile back. Perhaps...someday...he would have a conversation with her. He wondered about her name and where she lived.

He wondered if she knew what had happened to Kim.

* * *

It was a hot day and Layla was content for the most part to stay cooped up in the house, propped on the couch, remote in hand. After the daytime soaps had passed, she observed a series of infomercials trying to sell her food choppers and gaudy jewelry. The morning passed by in a blur. In between news segments on one of the local channels, she rose, fully intending to fetch herself another drink. Glancing out the window, she stopped dead in her tracks.

That foreboding mansion at the top of the hill was the same as she remembered it from last summer. That place had been her haven, away from the gossiping biddies in the neighborhood. She would bring up her violin and just play for hours, enjoying the scenery.

And that...person...

That person up in the window. They were always watching her. She didn't know if it was some vagabond or squatter, but they never bothered her and so she left them alone. It never hurt to have an audience anyhow...

Where they still up there, though?

Layla reached into the fridge, pulling out a can of soda. It had been a full year after all, it was more than likely that this person had moved on. She seated herself at the counter and stared pensively at the place. It was a long trek and in her current condition, it was highly questionable she'd be able to make it at all.

When Mike came home from work that evening, he found her sitting at the counter where he'd left her. Her head was down and she was fast asleep. With a sad sigh, he moved to wake her up.


	3. PP2

2.

* * *

The rosemary nods upon the grave;  
The lily lolls upon the wave;  
Wrapping the fog about its breast,  
The ruin molders into rest;  
Looking like **Lethe**, see! the lake  
A conscious slumber seems to take,  
And would not, for the world, awake.  
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies  
**Irene**, with her Destinies!

* * *

It was a very grey morning. Edward reluctantly rolled from his bed and stood. He blinked absently a few times before sighing and making his way to the broken window that overlooked the courtyard. It looked as though it might rain.

He snipped nervously. Should he risk wetting his hands and rusting up or simply wait until the sun came out again to begin trimming the hedges? After a quiet moment of contemplation, he decided it would simply be best to get it over with.

Down on the green grass, he found himself with a momentary sense of peace. This small plot of land speckled with colors was his only paradise. Here, the most beautiful things in the world appreciated him and the care he gave them. Here, he had a purpose.

The smiled dropped from his face. But flowers couldn't talk to you. They couldn't reassure you when you felt like perhaps it was all for naught. One could talk to the flowers, no doubt, but Edward doubted they would care much to hear anything he'd have to say.

A rain drop splattered on his scarred cheek and he raised his nearly black eyes to the clouds above. Yes, it would rain. Time to go inside.

He had just reached the front door, pushing it open with his back when he heard it. The rusted courtyard gate, mostly obscured by thick and wild vines, began to creak and groan, as though someone were pushing it open. Fearfully, Edward moved inside the house as quickly as he could.

He frantically ascended the staircase, stopping once near the window to cautiously peer out at the intruder.

"You," he said softly, when he caught sight of who it was.

* * *

It had taken her nearly a half hour to reach the house's gate. By the time she had pushed open the wrought iron bars and passed through the dense foliage nearly obscuring it, she was exhausted. Stopping to catch her breath and adjust her stance, Layla marveled that she made it at all.

After Mike had left for work, she had rolled out of bed and immediately caught sight of the potential ominous weather. It would actually be the perfect opportunity for venturing out, as she suspected the nosy neighbors would probably want to stay indoors in case of rain.

Digging into her closet, she withdrew a long, black maxi dress and shrugged a simple cardigan over it. After a moment of frustration, she was able to fasten a pair of worn Doc Martens to her feet. Mike kept an umbrella in his coat closet, so for good measure she took that along too.

There was no need to lock the door behind her, she knew that ever since Mike had lived here there was no real crime in the neighborhood. So she simply latched it firmly and padded down the concrete sidewalk.

There was only one woman out walking her dog and she was on the other side of the street. Nonetheless, the dog barked hysterically and the woman looked over and gave Layla a small wave, which the young girl returned.

Her initial intent had simply been to case the closest few blocks but unsurprisingly, she found herself at the base of the steep hill that lead up to the abandoned mansion above. A few months ago, Layla knew that she would have simply called it quits and resigned herself to her fate, but no longer. The rocky terrain was a challenge, she knew...but it was a challenge worth accepting.

_It's a simple matter of placing one foot in front of the other,_ she told herself.

Once through the gate, Layla emerged into the garden – still as meticulously cared for as the last summer she'd visited. Raindrops spattered down around her and with a grin, she flicked open the umbrella. Shield in place, she ventured forward.

All the old figures were still there. She sauntered among them, running her fingers over the arches of the sea monster, circling the ever reaching hand, and under the antlers of the stag. But there was something new, tucked away near the back. As she approached it, a gasp escaped from her lips.

An accurately shaped violin, standing upright, was silhouetted against the stone wall backdrop. Layla stood before it, barely breathing. How was it possible to make something so wonderful? How could someone have this much talent and yet never introduce themselves? Clearly...they knew of her previous presence in this place. To her, it was obvious that this had been created for her.

A movement in the upper window caught her eye and she turned sharply. Was that person still in there? Her dark gaze dropped down to the large wooden door that led to the interior of the mansion. She'd never ventured inside before, half out of fear for the stability of the structure and half in the worry that someone "dangerous" could be squatting in there.

Something in her beckoned though. If it was, indeed, that mysterious figure who had been her captivated audience last summer...she wanted to know. She needed to know. When she came to this realization, Layla had already reached the front steps. She looked down at them, confused.

Dare she?

* * *

Edward watched nervously as she approached the front entrance, as though she were in a daze. He noticed something else as well. She didn't move like she used to. Even walking to and from the garden, he'd always seen her as a graceful being. Her gait, now though, was uncertain. Jerky, even.

Had something happened?

So lost in his thoughts he was that he didn't notice she was shoving the door open until it squeaked on it's hinges. Almost transfixed, he gawked in horror as her auburn head peered around the corner, taking in the lower half of the home. As silently as he could, his booted feet backed up the stairs and around the corner.

She entered slowly, cautiously, letting her clear plastic umbrella drop to the floor. The dripping water created tiny pools where it lay forgotten on the cold cement floor. Her eyes took in everything, from the cobwebs that stretched across the stairwell railing to the dusty and neglected machines near the back of the immense room.

"What is this place?" she asked aloud, her soft voice nearly echoing in the cavernous expanse of room. It was the first time Edward had ever heard her speak. He smiled and snipped absently.

Layla froze where she stood. What was that noise? It had come from near the staircase and slowly she turned her head to look. A shadow moved, drawing further into the house and she felt a cold chill race down her spine. She wasn't alone in here...

For his part, Edward was cursing himself as he moved up the second staircase and into the attic as fast as he could. Would she come up here? Would she find him? Then what...?

_Don't scream, please. _


	4. PP3

3.

* * *

_Oh, lady bright! can it be right-__  
__The window open to the night?__  
__The wanton airs, from the tree-top,__  
__Laughingly through the lattice drop -__  
__The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,__  
__Flit through thy chamber in and out,__  
__And wave the curtain canopy__  
__So fitfully - so fearfully -__  
__Above the closed and fringéd lid__  
__'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,__  
__That, o'er the floor and down the wall,__  
__Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!_

* * *

Layla pondered for several silent moments about what the next course of action should be. A very large part of her wanted to bolt out of the mansion and hightail it down the hill, regardless of how awkward or painful that might prove to be. But that same part of her that lulled her into the house in the first place seemed to pull at her again, dragging her towards the stairs.

Her brown eyes gazed at the hooded figure that guarded the staircase. It was carved of stone and layered in neglect. Cobwebs, she smiled ruefully. No sense in being poetic about grim reaper figures – it's been done before.

That silent stone guardian would have frightened most people. But Layla simply found his lonely presence here sad. Reaching up, she pulled away some of the spider webs and freed up his hooded head.

"There," she grinned. "You look much more fearsome now. Good for you!"

Her attention moved to the staircase. Well, she figured it was either last year's audience/squatter or a ghost. And she wasn't much afraid of ghosts. Still, Layla grabbed her discarded umbrella and closed it up. At best, she could use it as a spear to defend herself while she fled.

With a sigh, she placed her good foot on the first step. "Like I said, one foot in front of the other. Just go." And she did. It was slow and a little unsteady, but she made it to the top of the first set and looked back down. The perspective was staggering.

What a space!

There were two rows of ancient assembly line machinery, but she couldn't quite figure out what they were for. "Later."

There was a long stone hallway that was obviously of the same style as the lower level. A few heavy looking wooden doors lined it but at the end lay another small staircase and it was this that Layla headed for. She was winded by the time she reached the top and stepped into the open attic space.

The roof had caved in here and there, and a large gaping hole gave her a spectacular view of the suburbs below and the town proper, all the way out to the ocean. "Wow..." she breathed. Scanning the space, her eyes fell on the darkest corner of the room, to her left. Something moved and her blood ran cold once more.

"Hey," she called. "I know you're there. You might as well come out."

The figure shuffled some and she heard the disconcerting snipping noise again.

"I mean it," she brandished the umbrella. "Come out!"

For a moment there was no movement and then the figure stood. It was tall, and as it stepped forward, clearly male and...

"Holy shit..." her breath came out in a loud whoosh.

* * *

Edward slowly came forward, keeping his eyes trained on her face. She held the plastic umbrella in front of her like a shield. Or a sword, he thought fearfully. But there was no hiding now, she'd seen him. He stepped forward a few more times and then stopped.

She simply stared, taking him in. Her eyes moved over his hair and face, down to his leather and belted physique, and then...her eyes widened perceptibly and he tried not to cringe. She would scream. She would run. Then, the rest of them would come. Maybe they'd kill him.

The girl lowered the umbrella. "You're the gardener, aren't you?"

Well, that was unexpected. "Excuse me?" His voice came out quiet and cracked. It had been a while since he'd really spoken.

"The hedge sculptures," she explained. "It's pretty clearly your...handiwork. You did do all that, didn't you?"

He nodded. She wasn't screaming yet and she hadn't left.

Layla sighed. "I guess...you were the one watching me play last summer then. It wasn't just my crazy imagination."

Edward shook his head. "You stopped coming. I didn't think you would come back."

She smiled wistfully. "I never really meant to, actually. But...things happened and here I am again."

"What's your name?" He wanted to know. He needed to know.

"I'm Layla," she told him. "Who are you?"

"Edward."

She dropped the umbrella on the floor and let her gaze wander the attic. The was a fire place on the other side of the room and she crossed it to examine the curious contents she found there. A bed was placed neatly within the confines of the fire box and random magazine and newspaper clippings had been tacked up. She skimmed over them, wondering at their significance until she found one in particular.

Boy born without eyes learns to read.

She bit down on her lip and stamped down last fall's tragedy before turning to look at Edward, who stood where she'd left him. He was looking at her strangely, eyebrows knit together in concern.

"What?"

Her voice seemed to startle him. "I'm sorry. It's just...did something happen to you? You seem different."

Something in Layla's chest grew taut and she lashed out. "What's up with your hands?"

He took a step back and then slowly raised his hands for her to see. "My father died before he could finish me." There was shame written all over his face and Layla wanted to bite her tongue until it was bloody. It wasn't his fault he'd stumbled upon a sore spot for her...and it was definitely getting sore. Too much walking for one day.

"Not finished..." she repeated. Here was a boy, living alone in a dark castle on top of the hill, with scissors for hands. Christ. "You're right. Something did happen. You might not be finished, but I'm broken."

Slowly, she lifted the hem of her dress up to mid-thigh and gazed back at him. He seemed confused for a moment until he realized what he was seeing. "Oh."

From the ankle up everything looked normal, except for maybe a slight variation in skin tone but it was at the knee that it all clicked. A joint, like nothing found on a normal human leg, gave it all away. Up a bit further revealed a white bandage like cloth, the kind used keep amputated stumps from rubbing raw against a prosthetic.

"Broken," she said, matter of fact.


	5. PP4

4.

* * *

_Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?__  
__Why and what art thou dreaming here?__  
__Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas__  
__A wonder to these garden trees!__  
__Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!__  
__Strange, above all, thy length of tress,__  
__And this all solemn silentness!_

* * *

"What happened to you?" he asked, staring in wide eyed fascination at what she had just revealed. Layla dropped the skirt of her dress and shrugged.

"An accident," she muttered. Edward didn't know what to say. It made sense now – something terrible had happened to her. She wasn't complete anymore, just like him.

Something buzzed loudly and both of them jumped. Irritated, Layla dug into her shoulder bag and retrieved a small hand-held device. She flipped it open and read something on the screen.

"I have to go," she finally said. "My uncle is looking for me. I guess I'm not supposed to leave the house without clearance." Layla rolled her eyes and tucked the cell phone back into her bag. She looked back up to Edward.

"It's still raining," he said quietly. "You could wait until it stops."

Layla rolled her eyes over to the gaping hole in the attic roof. It was indeed still pouring violently. Even with her umbrella, she suspected getting back down the hill (which would be muddy and slippery) would be a treacherous activity. Better to just stick around for a while, do some poking and prodding around the place.

She heaved a great sigh and dropped her messenger bag to the floor. "I don't seem to have much choice." And with that, she slumped to the floor and promptly stretched her legs. Edward watched her get comfortable on the floor of his attic with some trepidation. She was just going to sit there? In his private (and safe!) place?

"You sleep up here?" her voice startled him again and he blinked.

"Sometimes." Truthfully, he didn't sleep as often as he used to. Instead, he would just stare up into the blackened chimney until the sun rose and he could be useful again. Still...it seemed strange to have someone up here. That last time had been...

Layla shifted some and winced, clearly in pain. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at the concern in his voice. The words "_I'm fine"_ were on the tip of her tongue, but something in the way he was staring down at her halted them. God, she wasn't fine at all, was she? And, even though she'd literally just met this strange young man, lying didn't seem like the best alternative. What would she gain from blowing off the question anyways? More concern? That's how it happened, most times.

"No, I don't think I am." She met his gaze and after a moment of nearly losing herself in the dark abyss of his eyes (my, wasn't that poetic?), she shrugged. "It takes a long time to recover from losing a limb. That's what they tell me, anyhow. Phantom pains are supposed to be common, too."

"What are phantom pains?" he asked, giving into his desire to sit across from her. He stayed a safe distance back though and rested his appendages loosely on his knees. He noticed her eying them curiously, but there seemed to be no fear and that surprised him.

Layla's hands reached down and, hesitantly, worked her fingers into the tense muscles of her right thigh. "Phantom pains are sensations of feeling in a missing body part. The brain still thinks it's there and so you feel it like it is. Sometimes it can be excruciatingly painful."

"I'm sorry."

"Meh," she tried to brush it off. "It'll go away in time. I hope."

He looked thoughtful. "Does it hurt now?"

The girl gave a soft snort. "I haven't been wearing this prosthetic very long and I decided to break it in by trudging all the way up here. Yeah, I'm a bit sore." His eyebrows rose. "If you're referring to my explanations regarding the phantom menace, then no. Not right now."

Edward nodded. She was becoming very clinical about this subject all of a sudden and it made him a bit nervous. He wasn't sure how to feel about _doctors_ these days...Maybe a change of topic would help."Do you live down there?"

"My uncle has the sage green house down on Willow. I'm staying with him, probably indefinitely. So I suppose I do." Her cellphone buzzed again and with a groan, she pulled it back out of her bag. This time it was a call.

"Mrs. Mabel tells me you're not back yet," Mike barked through the speaker. She winced and held it away from her ear. "Where the hell are you?"

"Christ, man," she shot back. "I went for a walk. It started raining, so I'm waiting on it to let up before heading home. Chill. You'd better be on break if you're calling me, if you get fired who's gonna pay my medical bills?"

There was some grumbled nonsense about her father that she dutifully ignored and when Mike demanded that she be home before he got there, a sincere-sounding affirmation was tossed his way and the call ended.

"Was that your uncle?" Edward asked quietly. He'd never seen a cellphone before, but he had enough knowledge of phones from Peg's home to understand that this must be a new version. It was much smaller and slimmer than the bulky corded thing that plugged into the wall at that quaint blue house.

"I swear he thinks I'm made of porcelain or something!" she huffed, blowing a piece of auburn hair away from her face. "I suppose I better leave though. I think the rain's finally letting up."

He watched her rise unsteadily to her feet and as she toppled forward, stood quickly and made to catch her. Of course, he realized belatedly how terrible an idea that would have been. The long blades of his fingers were barely an inch away from her body and she'd stilled quite suddenly at that knowledge.

He sucked in a panicked breath and made to draw back when she reached forward to snatch one of his wrists. "No, don't..." it came out like a sob and he shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see her blood.

After a moment of watching him in his silent terror, Layla released his wrist. She'd really just wanted a closer look at his hands. But, much like her leg, perhaps this was something he couldn't quite accept about himself either.

She took a step back and headed for the staircase after retrieving her bag and umbrella. He didn't move. Poor Edward had gone still as a statue and she might have found it a bit funny in a different situation. When her foot descended to the first step, the creak forced Edward to open his dark eyes and look at her.

"It is lovely though," she said quietly, not looking at him. "The garden, that is."

"Will you come back?" it came out as whisper, almost desperate the way it hung between them.

A half smile tugged at her face and she shrugged. "When I can."

* * *

Mike had practically torn her a new one when he got home from work, but Layla's mind was elsewhere and she barely heard a word of it. In the back of her mind though, an irritated voice whispered a slew of nasty things she could say to Mrs. Mabel if the nosy old housewife decided to spy on her again.

Around eleven pm, she finally switched the television off and decided to go to bed. Closing the door to her makeshift bedroom quietly behind her, Layla stood in the darkness and took deep breaths. She wanted to clear her mind and hopefully have an uneventful rest.

In a mechanical fashion, she shucked the previous day's clothing and donned a t-shirt and boxer style shorts. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she braced herself for the worst part of her night. Slipping off the prosthetic made her skin crawl in the worst way, but she tried hard to fight off the initial wave of dizzy nausea that washed over her.

It was hard to look at what was left of her leg. If she didn't, she could pretend none of it had happened. Looking forced her to acknowledge. To remember. "Stop," she said aloud. Slipping the thick white sock off what was rest of her right leg, she let out a sigh as her flesh met the cool air.

Sleeping used to freak her out. In between the nightmares and screaming, she would lie awake, painfully aware of what was missing beneath the sheets. Fortunately, she got used to it quickly, especially when she realized how awkward moving a fake limb around under blankets could be.

"Ok, sleep time," she told herself. Layla pulled back the white comforter on the queen bed she'd claimed and slipped under it, settling into a comfortable position on her left side and closing her eyes. Sleep claimed her quickly.

* * *

_Rain. It was raining hard and Layla could barely see out the window. The road ahead might as well have been a river and the radio was announcing flood conditions whenever the signal pattered back in. The sun had set a few hours ago, but they'd be home soon and she could finally go to bed. _

_Glorious bed. She was so tired._

_Her day had been eventful to say the least. Her parents had even got along with relative ease as they sat at the diner before her audition. Her mother smiled politely while her dad, Robert, spouted everything he knew about the music program at Seattle University. Her kept telling how she'd do great and he was so proud of her. _

_And her audition had gone off without a hitch. Her violin sang her determination as she moved through the pieces. The judges had been impressed with her technique and creativity. It was like a dream come true. Nearly the whole ride back home to upstate California had been spent planning her future life at university._

_It was raining hard that night though. And they never made it home._


	6. PP5

5.

* * *

_The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,__  
__Which is enduring, so be deep!__  
__Heaven have her in its sacred keep!__  
__This chamber changed for one more holy,__  
__This bed for one more melancholy,__  
__I pray to God that she may lie__  
__Forever with unopened eye,__  
__While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!_

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Mike asked for the seventh time. Layla sat across from him at the kitchen table, still in her pajamas, and gently stirring the last few piece of cereal in her bowl. Her hair stuck up frightfully and dark circles gathered behind her eyes.

"I'll be fine," she sighed, also for the seventh time. "The sun's up so all the monsters have gone back under the bed where they belong."

The mechanic looked at his niece dubiously. "I can stay home today if you like..."

With a sigh, Layla rose from her seat and disposed of her cereal bowl on the sink. She turned to face her uncle and leaned again the counter, exasperation written across her features. "I'm twenty years old, Mike. Not twelve. I can take care of myself."

He sighed. It had been nearing three in the morning when he awoke abruptly to the sound of screaming. He'd tumbled painfully out of bed and darted across the hall to Layla's home. The girl had been in the throes of a violent night terror, thrashing back and forth in bed. Her eyes had been wide open and she was screaming herself hoarse. It had taken Mike several minutes of shaking and yelling to get her out of it.

It had rattled him.

Even after explaining that such things were normal after a traumatic event, he couldn't quite shake off his persisting concern for her. And so, with great reluctance, he finished up breakfast and left for work. So rattled he had been, that he forgot to tell her to stay indoors or that Mrs. Mabel would be stopping over around noon to check on her.

* * *

Edward stood at the attic window, staring down into the garden. He had no way of knowing if she would be coming today or if he would really see her again. _But she said when, not if._...he reminded himself. He decided to believe that she would come back.

He let himself wander back in time, to when Peg had first found her way up to the attic. She'd been spouting some nonsense about Avon, which he came to learn later was a makeup brand. Peg had been so uncertain of him at first, but she had a good heart and warmed up to him quickly. She even brought him home and tried to make him a part of the family.

They were fond memories for Edward. He missed sleeping in a warm bed and sitting at a table with the people he loved for dinner. Even if he didn't really have to sleep or eat, it was still nice to be included. It was nice to be loved.

That place had changed so much since he'd been down there. Edward was certain that a lot of time had passed since he returned to the castle on the hill. Slowly, the colors of the houses changed. Where they had been bright and cheerful, they became dull and muted. The hedges disappeared and small trees took their place, casting shade on front yards that were still mowed and fertilized meticulously. Without all the colorful distractions below, he found he could see clear to the ocean on most days. The town proper had also changed but he only really noticed that at night. More lights twinkled back at him now.

He wondered if Kim had changed too. Edward knew that most people aged with time. Even his father had grown old and finally succumbed to human mortality. He hadn't really understood it then, but he did now. His time in suburbia had taught him a lot of things about people. They could be manipulative, selfish, greedy, and cruel. But Kim wasn't any of those things, not really. She loved him. She'd told him so, before she disappeared forever. He wondered if she'd grown up and gotten married. Maybe she had children now. He didn't think she'd come back though. Kim had a life without him.

What kind of life did Layla have?

* * *

The roaring of the bath water drowned out the unsettling quiet of the house and Layla perched on the toilet, watching the tub slowly fill. She added a few handfuls of Epsom salts and then a bit of lavender scented bubble bath before slipping into the heated water. It was hot enough to sting her skin a bit and she let out a tense sigh. This was exactly what she needed.

Once the bath was filled, she used her left foot to kill the faucet and slid further down into the mass of suds. She closed her tired eyes and let the hot water and salts go to work on her broken body. All that tossing and turning had taken it's toll and her right limb still throbbed awkwardly.

It might be a few days before she could make another trek up the miniature mountain to see her new "friend". To be perfectly honest, she was hesitant about going back up there at all. It was one thing to interact with him at a distance and another to be up close and personal. How long had he been there? Was he dangerous? Was he even human?

Layla wasn't sure she hadn't lost her mind, if she was being realistic. Edward seemed like something she would dream up. Her mind had always been a bit dark, she was in love with Poe's works, the violin, and her wardrobe was pretty black. She'd been called a Goth in high school, and though the scene fascinated her, she still felt it to be a bit...restricting. She was just her own weird self. Playing the violin and dancing had given her some purpose in her life, had been her light, and a channel for her bizarre writings into something truly artistic.

But that was gone now. And she was starting to think she'd gone off the deep end.

* * *

Just after finishing up a light lunch, Layla had flopped down on the couch to watch an old black and white film when the doorbell rang. With a dramatic sigh, she pulled herself back up and moved to open the front door.

It was the neighbor from across the street, Mrs. Mabel. She was probably in her early forties, with bleached blonde hair, too much mascara, and a tight pink summer dress. Layla found her disgusting – but she was the typical California housewife so it was nothing new. And this also wasn't the first time they'd met...

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Layla drawled, emphasizing the ma'am bit. Anita Mabel quirked an eyebrow. She looked Layla up and down, taking in the girl's attire. She seemed so out of place in the neighborhood with her solid black leggings, fitted lace mini skirt and billowing sheer blouse. Far too...dark.

"Good afternoon, Layla," she tried to sound chipper. "Mike asked me to stop in and check up on you. How are you, dear? Do you need anything?"

"Well," Layla started. "I was just getting ready to watch an old movie so a bit of privacy and quiet-time would be absolutely dandy. Think you can supply that?"

For a moment, Anita looked confused. And then she realized that the young woman was giving her a rather cold brush-off. She forced a smile, "Sure, dear. Enjoy your movie and remember, if you need anything at all, I'm just across the street."

The girl nodded once and shut the door. Well, that was rude. With a little sniff, she turned around and strutted back across the street. Personally, the little cripple gave her the creeps. She'd be polite and friendly though, because she had some designs of her own on good 'ol handyman Mike.

_What my husband doesn't know..._

* * *

**Author's Note: Man, I'm on a roll here! I might have to take a quick break after this chapter though, I really need to work on wrapping up my Beetlejuice fic. And I also got myself a summer job! **

**Wanna now why I tossed in that bit about Avon, specifically? Well, I'm now an Avon representative. Can you believe they still sell that stuff? It's super cheap and I already bought a bunch of stuff for myself.**

**Interested? Check out my Avon site to do some shopping for yourself. Remember, everything you buy gets me some commission, so help a poor starving artist out!**

**Wx3(the dot thing)youravon(the dot thing)com(forwardslash)mosiecki**


	7. PP6

6.

* * *

_My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,  
As it is lasting, so be deep!  
Soft may the worms about her creep!  
Far in the forest, dim and old,  
For her may some tall vault unfold -  
Some vault that oft hath flung its black  
And wingéd panels fluttering back,  
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,  
Of her grand family funerals -_

* * *

"We'll get a new socket made up by next week, so take it easy on this one alright?"

Layla nodded dutifully, it's not like she had much choice in the matter. The saw drilled through the thick and hard layers of cast that would shape her newest prosthetic socket and she flinched at the sensation. This was her second fitting. The one she was currently working with felt too loose now.

"Normally, a residual limb would have taken its final shape by now, but you were a little late in the game as far as physical therapy goes," the prosthetist continued. "Are you still wearing the compression sock at night?"

"Sometimes I forget," she admitted.

"Try to remember," he insisted. "The quicker you get that part sorted out, the sooner you get fitted for a definitive leg. Any ideas on what you'd like to find yourself operating with?"

Layla thought about that for a moment. "Well, I know I want something...aesthetically pleasing but also durable."

"What kind of lifestyle do you have, Layla?"

"I used to dance. And I enjoy being outdoors."

The prosthetist looked up, surprised. "What kind of dance?"

She smiled. "Interpretive ballet, I guess. I used to dance while playing the violin. It was kind of my shtick I suppose..."

He nodded, thoughtful. "I'll look into what we can get a hold of regarding sockets, but if you're okay with the lock and release pin style, we can stick with that...and there are lots of silicone covers available so I'm sure we can find something close to your skin tone, if that's what you're thinking."

"What about patterns?"

He chuckled. "We got those too. I had a girl in yesterday with a galaxy print slip cover. Pretty cute, actually."

"What about feet? I'd like something...flexible."

The current foot attached to her false limb had very little give and was unnaturally stiff. Something that moved with her stride would be good...if she could ever wear heels of any kind again would be almost too much to ask, but maybe something existed.

"I would suggest giving the Silhouette LP-VS from Freedom Innovations a try," he offered, as he gestured to her boots sitting near the door. "That combat boot of yours has a bit of a heel, so I recommend something adjustable for different kinds of shoes. If that's available, would you like to try it?"

"Let's see if my insurance covers it," Layla bit her lip. "Otherwise I'll have to run it past my uncle."

* * *

"Mrs. Mabel's coming over for dinner."

Layla looked up from her book. "You've got to be kidding me. That woman is repulsive!"

Mike gave her a reproachful look. "She's a nice lady, Layla. Just because she wears a little too much fake tanner..."

"That's not fake," she insisted. "She's got skin cancer lurking in her pores, for sure."

The chicken sizzled in the pan, drawing Mike back to the business at hand. "Her husband's away on a business trip and I thought I'd invite her over in case she was lonely. That and now we don't have to worry about leftovers."

She snorted. "Fine, I'll play nice as long as she does."

The dinner was tense, but Layla kept her snide remarks to herself. Anita Mabel made it difficult, however, with her constant questions. She knew the biddy didn't really care, it was obvious Mrs. Mabel was making nice for her uncle. And that just rubbed her wrong in every way.

"How are you getting on, dear?"

"Just fine, actually."

"How was your doctor's appointment?"

"Eventful. And he's not really a doctor."

"Silly me, I don't know much about these things. Now that you're able to get around, are you going to find yourself a job?"

"I haven't given it much thought yet, but I suppose so."

"Oh well, some of those teen boutiques in the mall are hiring. Perhaps you could try there." That jab was punctuated with an appraisal of her outfit. Layla grit her teeth. That was nothing wrong with her lacy mini dress and leather vest. Maybe it was the dark eye makeup she objected to?

"May I be excused please?" She stood, taking her plate with her to the sink and then retreating to her bedroom. Once the door was latched behind her, Layla flopped down onto the bed dramatically and flung an arm over her eyes. "God, I can't stand that woman."

* * *

It was late at night when he heard the creaking of the gate. Turning from his place in the grass, Edward watched as Layla appeared out of the darkness, wielding a flashlight and looking pretty annoyed. The beam of light landed on him and she let out a yelp.

"Goodness, what on earth are you doing out here?" she hissed. He stood up and approached her, relieved that she had finally come back.

"I was watching the stars," he said simply.

She looked up, taking in the expanse of the sky visible from up on the hillside. "Oh," she said softly. Without the harsh street lights, the twinkling in the sky was much more visible.

"Why are you here?" Edward asked, keeping his eyes on her face. She looked so pale, just like him. "It's very late."

"I couldn't sleep," was her simple reply. She parked her butt on the dewy grass and sat back, staring up at the sky.

"Phantom pain?" he asked with concern. She rolled her eyes over to him and then patted the ground next to her. He reluctantly sat down again.

"No," she sighed. "I'm just irritated. We had one of the neighbors over for dinner tonight. I can't stand her. She's so fake and always flirting with my uncle, even though she's married."

An image of fluffy red hair flashed through Edward's mind and he shooed it away, instead focusing on the girl next to him.

"She pretends to be friendly, but it's obvious to anyone with half a brain how two-faced she is. I'm just surprised Mike doesn't see it. He's not a stupid guy."

"Is your uncle married?"

She dropped down onto her back and spread her arms. "He was, a long time ago. She died though and he doesn't have any kids. So he's lived alone ever since. I think that's why he's having such a hard time adjusting to me being here. That and..."

She didn't have to say it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't know what else to say.

"Not your fault," it came out softly. Then she chuckled. "You know, the other day, I was actually not certain if you were real or if I dreamed the whole thing up. This whole situation is really surreal and I'm half-convinced I've gone off the deep end."

He looked down at her, face concealed by shadows. He resembled an ominous black mass with sharp claws that way, but she wasn't unnerved by the sight. It was kind of beautiful, with the starry silhouette behind him. "I don't think you're crazy."

And suddenly she wanted to tell him everything. All about her accident, how she felt about her life now, and how lonely she was. It almost came tumbling out before a lump formed in her throat and she rolled onto her side, away from him. The grass was soft and sweet-smelling beneath her and she inhaled it, trying to will away all the darkness inside her.

"Are you okay?"

That question again. She knew there was no way of being honest without completely tearing up, so she pulled it together enough to choke out a half-hearted, "I'm fine." But she wasn't. She really wasn't.


	8. PP7

7.

* * *

Some sepulchre, remote, alone,  
Against whose portal she hath thrown,  
In childhood, many an idle stone -  
Some tomb from out whose sounding door  
She ne'er shall force an echo more,  
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!  
It was the dead who groaned within.

* * *

Edward didn't know what to do. His new friend was curling up into a ball on the grass next to him and he couldn't even comfort her. What use was he? Peg had always told him stories about herself and her past to help him cheer up. He enjoyed listening to her back then - her life was so different from his.

He thought perhaps he could tell Layla a story, but he didn't have many good ones. His father had died so long ago that he was starting to forget about him. He could no longer remember the exact cadence of his voice or what shade of blue his eyes were.

**"There was an old man from the Cape, **

**who made himself garments of crepe. **

**When asked: will they tear? He replied:**

** Here and there, but they keep such a beautiful shape!"**

He recited the words carefully, gazing up at the sky. Layla turned onto her back again and glanced at him. "What?"

"My father used to read me poetry," he told her. "This was my favorite."

"I've never heard it before," Layla admitted. She was a beloved fan of Poe's works and many other authors but this was a rhyme she'd never come across before. It was nonsensical and cute, which made her wonder about this deceased father of Edward's. "What sort of man was he?"

The pale young man next to her smiled then. "He was an inventor. He made those machines in the mansion."

"Oh?" she rolled onto her stomach then, propping her head on her hands. "What do they do?"

"They make cookies."

She snorted. "For real?" Edward nodded, his brow creasing. She didn't believe him? Perhaps he could figure out how to turn them on and show her. Perhaps she would like that. Perhaps...

"How did he die?"

The question was so sudden he was startled out of his thoughts and snipped his digits anxiously. "I...I don't know. He fell down and never woke up again."

"Was he old?"

Edward nodded. Layla suspected the old inventor must have died from a heart attack or stroke to go so suddenly. She couldn't even imagine how traumatic that must have been for Edward.

"My mother..." she began, resolving to speak. "My mother died last year."

He was silent for a long moment and then he met her gaze. "Your accident?" She nodded. And with his full attention, she launched herself head first into her story:

"It was a dark and stormy night. I don't care how cliché that sounds, it's true. We were driving back from Seattle; I had an orchestra audition at one of the universities there. I'd played really well and they were willing to offer me a scholarship for a music degree. I couldn't have been happier.

Anyways, it was raining so hard that Mom could barely see the road. I told her to pull over and wait it out, but truthfully I wanted to get home just as bad as she did.

I wasn't really paying attention but I saw the truck right before it hit. See, the roads were so wet that the semi truck coming across the intersection couldn't stop and he ended up smashing right into the passenger side of the car. Right into me.

The impact spun the car around a few times and eventually slammed us into a light post. "

Her voice began to crack here and she had to blink away tears.

"Mom died on impact, but somehow I survived. The entire right side of the car was smashed in and I was stuck inside. I...remember coming in and out of consciousness a bit, but I couldn't feel anything. The car had to be cut apart to pry me out and I was rushed to a hospital after that."

"Were you scared?" Edward injected, softly.

"Mostly I was really dazed. I ended up losing a lot of blood though and wound up in a coma for a week. Waking up, I couldn't really remember what happened. I was in...excruciating pain and Mike told me that I was screaming for Mom for the whole time. I...didn't know she was gone.

When I finally came to, I learned that I had both of my legs severely fractured and my right foot had been crushed. My right collar bone had snapped in half and my wrist was pretty messed up. The bruised ribs were the most annoying though - it hurt to just breathe.

All of that paled in comparison to Mike telling me that Mom hadn't made it. I just...couldn't believe it. I mean, the truck hit me! How could she be gone. Turns out that the impact of the air bag and being slammed into the pole had broken her neck, she died instantly. In the end, I think she was the lucky one."

Edward scooted a little bit closer to her. It was all he could do really. "I'm so sorry."

She smiled ruefully. "It's not over yet. My left leg was healing okay, but the damage to my right foot wasn't. There was a lot of tissue damage and it was starting to decay. The only option was to amputate.

As if I wasn't dealing with enough, can you imagine being told that? I freaked out. I just...wanted to die.

So, while I was still healing from everything else, I had a transtibial amputation performed. Overall, I think I spent three months in the hospital recovering from everything. Mike was really supportive, though. What a champ, I don't think I could have survived without him. He brought me books to read, music to listen to, told me stories about work.

He...helped me sort out everything back home too. See, I couldn't afford the mortgage on Mom's house and I didn't really want to stay there anyways, so he helped me sell it. It took a long time but we finally sold it a few weeks ago. I'm going to miss it, but..."

She trailed off, throat truly closing up for the first time during her retelling. Negotiating terms with the realtor had been a nightmare, but the hardest part was sorting through everything and holding an estate sale. Sure, she kept a few trinkets of her mother's, but nearly everything else had to go.

"What happened to your violin?" Edward asked, after several quiet minutes.

Layla shrugged. "It was in the car, so I assume it was destroyed. Not that it matters, I'm not sure I can play now anyways." The dexterity of her wrist had been compromised and she was too frightened to attempt anything so delicate for fear of proving herself right. Best to just put all that behind her.

* * *

After her story, Layla had pulled herself up and sighed. "Well I guess I should be going before Mike discovers I snuck out and has kittens. Later!"

Then she'd disappeared from the courtyard and the night grew quiet again. Edward remained on the grass, ruminating. What a terrible thing to have happened to someone so kind. He'd never truly experienced any kind of real physical damage, so he could not relate to her injuries but he did recall the color of blood and imagining her covered in it turned his stomach a bit.

And to have lost her mother so suddenly and so recently, his heart clenched in his chest. She must have cried so much. Edward felt strange because he had not known to cry for his father all those years ago.

Thus, as a tear trickled down his scarred cheek, he mourned them both.


	9. PP8

8

* * *

Take this kiss upon the brow!  
And, in parting from you now,  
Thus much let me avow-  
You are not wrong, who deem  
That my days have been a dream;  
Yet if hope has flown away  
In a night, or in a day,  
In a vision, or in none,  
Is it therefore the less gone?  
All that we see or seem  
Is but a dream within a dream.

_~A Dream Within A Dream, Poe_

* * *

It was a Saturday afternoon and Layla had to wonder just what she thought she was doing standing amidst the bustling crowd at the mini mall. Bodies surged every which way, darting in and out of shops. A child somewhere down the way screamed an obscenity at his sister and the women in front her chatted animatedly about nail varnish.

She put a hand to her head and took a deep breath to remind herself of her purpose here. "I'm looking for a job," she muttered under her breath. "Any job that will give me hours and decent pay. I'm looking for a job."

With that determined thought on her brain, she straightened her shoulders and marched into the nearest store – a vitamin shop.

She came out with an application and a "Sorry, we're not hiring right now, but we'll keep you on books." She tucked the slip of paper into her bag and moved onto the next store. A hardware store. They took one look at her and nearly turned her out when she asked for a job. Showing her leg and insisting she had her own neat hardware got a chuckle or two, but no job offer.

And thus went the rest of her afternoon. With a snarl she tore her phone out of her pocket and dialed Mike. "This was pointless. Come pick me up."

"I've got the lawn mower all torn apart, give me a few minutes to get cleaned up and I'll be on my way," came her uncle's response. She sighed and flipped the phone shut. Her eyes caught something across the street and for a moment she debated.

Antique shops had been her mom's thing...but...

* * *

It was quiet inside and had that musty smell that only old and forgotten things had. With no other soul in sight, Layla wandered up and down the short aisles, looking at chipped doll faces, old farm equipment, and ancient kitchen utensils. While interesting to look at, none of it particularly jumped out at her.

It was at the end of the very last aisle though, near the back of the store that she pulled up short and gasped. On an old rocking chair in serious need of re-upholstery sat a worn looking violin case. Slowly, she approached, not even daring to assume there was a violin inside. Gingerly, she sat on the floor near the chair and pulled the dusty case into her lap.

She held her breath as the clasps flicked up and with a small creak, the lid lifted to reveal a decidedly aged violin made of ebony and maple. Despite it's aged appearance and that it was missing a string, the instrument looked to be in good condition.

So absorbed in her scrutiny she was that Layla didn't notice the old man who was standing next to her until he spoke. "You play?"

She gave a yelp and glanced upwards. "I used to."

The man crouched next to her and eyed the violin appraisingly. "Not many people in these parts care for string instruments and even fewer play 'em. This here's a Stradivari copy from 1864 – see the label there. It's a copy alright, but she's still a beauty."

Layla fingered the loose strings, cat gut no doubt, and smiled softly. "My prize violin was an Amati."

The old man chuckled then. "So I guess you know a fair bit o' what I'm spouting. This girl's been in the shop with me since I opened. People look, but no one wants an antique that needs work. But you know, with some new strings and a bit of body work, she'll sing for ya."

Layla couldn't take her eyes away from the aged beauty in front of her. She could see it now. New pegs, new strings, maybe a new coat of varnish...

"How much?"

"I'll give her to you for $250. Sound fair?"

Layla glanced up in surprise, to see the old shop owner smiling at her. "That's all?"

"Knowing she'll sing again is payment enough," he chuckled.

* * *

The sun was setting when he heard footsteps coming up to the attic. Without rising from his lumpy bed, Edward watched as Layla practically floated into the room. She had something tucked under her arm and as she knelt in the center of the room, a gasp escaped his lips. "Is that...?"

"Don't speak," she ordered him softly, afraid to break the spell that was commanding her limbs and her heart. With care, she released the violin from it's case and made a few tuning adjustments. She'd already replaced the strings and pegs, now it was time to see if she was still up to snuff..

Standing, she closed her eyes and cradled the instrument delicately against her collar bone. Time seemed to stop and with a release of air from her burning lungs, the bow slid smoothly across the ebony body, letting a long, low note sail into the attic.

It filled her with it's familiarity, it's comfort. Like welcoming an old friend back from a long journey or seeing the sun against after years in dark confinement. Each note sang to her its desolate emptiness and neglect and with each uplifting lilt its joy to see the light again. The violin that had been forsaken and broken by time melded with her and resonated with Layla's own sense of brokenness. A feeling of completion and wholeness filled her for the first time since her accident.

Unbeknownst to her, she'd begun to sway in time with her melody.

Edward, though, certainly noticed. It didn't matter to him that her fingers cramped up around the strings or her stiff wrist dragged the bow too harshly across the strings. In that moment, with her eyes closed and the fading sunlight streaming past her, she was the most inspiring creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

He matched her smile.

* * *

I'm SO sorry it's taken me this long to update. School just started up again and I'm getting back into the swing of things. Hopefully I can fit my writing into my class and homework schedule.

Also, I apologize if this chapter is short and rather lackluster.


End file.
